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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26955307">bright-eyed but conflicted</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/van1lla_v1lla1n/pseuds/allmyloyaldead'>allmyloyaldead (van1lla_v1lla1n)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Succession (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ambiguous Gender Reader, But that’s the Tom Wamb way!, Come Eating, Cringe levels unmatched, Office Sex, Other, Penetrative Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Rough Oral Sex, Smut, Sub Tom Wambsgans, Unsafe Sex, apologetic degradation, tom is a sub who desperately wants to dom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:55:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,420</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26955307</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/van1lla_v1lla1n/pseuds/allmyloyaldead</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You’re Tom Wambsgans’s new assistant. “That went . . . well,” you say after a meeting that did not, in fact, go well.</p><p>Tom laughs his high, desperate laugh. “Sure it did. Just magnificent.” He slumps back in his desk chair. “I’ll need a fuck and a latte to recover from that one.”</p><p>Which is a surprise, and probably just a joke, but you can dig it. You say, “Like right now, or?”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tom Wambsgans/Other(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>bright-eyed but conflicted</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>for readers of any genital variety. have fun :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You’re Tom Wambsgans’s new assistant.</p><p>“That went . . . well,” you say after a meeting that did not, in fact, go well.</p><p>Tom laughs his high, desperate laugh. “Sure it did. Just magnificent.” He slumps back in his desk chair. “I’ll need a fuck and a latte to recover from that one.”</p><p>Which is a surprise, and probably just a joke, but you can dig it. He’s got good eyes, good shoulders, that scar on his lip he runs his finger over when he’s nervous. The height doesn’t hurt, either. You say, “Like right now, or?”</p><p>Tom looks more shocked at your response than you were by his comment in the first place. “Oh, god, no. I’m just kidding. Sorry—I’m a prick, I’m just fucking around.”</p><p>You shrug. “Alright. It’s not off the table, though. If it’d be helpful, or whatever. I could do that for you. Like, as your assistant.” Tom blushes, stands up hurriedly, and you smirk.</p><p>“Right. I’ve got to get to . . . a place. Got another thing. Send me the meeting minutes via email.” And he rushes out of his office, leaving you standing there in a waft of his overpriced cologne and fabric softener.</p>
<hr/><p>The next week Tom has an executive meeting with Logan. You prep for him as much as you can, bring him his coffee early, but when the meeting’s over he storms frazzled into your office. His hands are shaking, hair sticking up in tufts like he’s been tugging at it. He stands in front of your desk, breathing hard.</p><p>“Were you serious? Last week, were you serious?” He finally looks at you.</p><p>“About what? About fucking you?” He hasn’t brought this up since, and the only reason you know he’s thought about it is that all week he’s blushed every time he said the word “fuck” in front of you, every time you made some comment about trying to be helpful.</p><p>He traces that scar on his lip, crosses his arms over his chest. “Yeah. About that.”</p><p>You smile, trying to make it look friendly, not like you’re laughing at him. “I was.” You lean forward a little behind your desk. “Is that a thing you need right now?”</p><p>He fidgets, loosens his tie, and his neck is blotchy red under his collar. “It is. If this isn’t—this isn’t inappropriate, right?”</p><p>“Oh, it definitely is. You’ll just have to trust me not to tell anyone.”</p><p>Tom nods, gaze shifting over your face, your desk. “Right. My office.”</p><p>You take your time following him out, unbuttoning the top button of your dress shirt. When you get into his office he’s just standing behind his desk, leaning on it, head down, and you perch your ass on the desk right next to him, reach up to smooth down his hair. He pulls his head away.</p><p>“Shiv and I—we have an arrangement. We’re adults. It’s normal.”</p><p>You nod. “Sure.”</p><p>“I just wanted you to know. That this isn’t cheating.”</p><p>“Right. Yeah, that’s your deal, Tom. This is fine with me. Like I said, just trying to be a good assistant.” You smile when he looks up at you, wink a tiny, plausibly deniable wink. He hesitates, and you slide across the desk to sit directly in front of him, reach up to touch the scar on his lip.</p><p>And then he’s kissing you, hard, fierce enough that you can barely get a breath, his hands gripping your hip and your neck. He shoves his tongue into your mouth, whimpers when you suck on it. You fumble with his belt, his fly, and when you sink down to your knees to take his cock into your mouth, he grips your hair.</p><p>He lets you lick at his erection, taking it slowly into your mouth, but once you’ve taken him as far as you can, his hands tighten into your hair. You grip his wrists as he fucks your mouth, and abruptly he lets go and pulls away, apologizing.</p><p>Breathless, he says, “I’m so sorry, was that too—”</p><p>“No, fuck no,” you say, taking his hands and putting them back on your head. You open your mouth and look up into his face, watch him watch you as you slide your open mouth back over his cock. His fingers tighten incrementally in your hair again, and as he slowly begins to thrust into your mouth, he whispers, “Okay?” and you hum in response, your mouth full of his cock, and he groans and fucks into your mouth in earnest.</p><p>You hold on behind his knees, let him use your face, pulling back just slightly when the head of his dick bumps against the back of your throat. There’s nothing to think about: just your hands gripping his legs and his cock in your face and his hands in your hair.</p><p>When he pulls away your lips feel bruised. He pulls you by the wrist to stand up, his hand sliding under the collar of your shirt as he leans in, mouth falling open, to look at your swollen lips. He grips your hips, ruts against you, probably smearing your spit and his precum all over your trousers, and rucks up your shirt to tweak your nipples.</p><p>Against your throat he says, “I can fuck you?” and you grab his ass to pull him back against you and say, “Yes.”</p><p>“You greedy little slut,” he says, but he smiles and his eyes tell you he’s sorry, he doesn’t really mean it.</p><p>He turns you around, tugs at your trousers, says, “Take these off,” and as you let them fall he presses gently between your shoulder blades until you bend over his desk. You look down at a stack of manila folders as he fumbles behind you. “Look at you,” he says, and you gasp, your back arching, when you feel the hot flat of his tongue lick up the seam of you. Seconds later he’s gripping your hips, and the warm blunt head of him eases into you, opening you up slowly.</p><p>Your elbows feel shaky from the new fullness, and you shift down to rest on your forearms as he begins to thrust into you. He’s hesitant at first, but when you turn your head to the side and say, “Take what you need, Tom,” he reaches up to grip your shoulder and fucks you hard, forcing the air out of your lungs in little huffs. You struggle not to moan, not to squeak, but you can’t keep your mouth shut, and you’re sure you’re drooling onto his desk.</p><p>He shudders as he comes inside you, and his whimpers seem loud enough to carry under the door. He rubs your back, staying inside you as he catches his breath, and you turn around when he pulls out, already feeling his cum seep onto your thighs. Tom’s fumbling with his clothes, looking bright-eyed but conflicted.</p><p>“Not really sure what came over me,” he says.</p><p>“Wanna make it even?” you ask, and lean back on the edge of his desk, spreading your legs. “Or are you just going to let your assistant walk out of here with your cum dripping down their legs?”</p><p>All at once he looks surprised, confused, maybe a little offended. But then he kneels down, leans in to clean your thighs, to lick his cum out of you, and he’d acted offended you’d asked for this but his little moans when you rut against his mouth and grip his hair to hold him against you tell you otherwise.</p><p>After you come, when you tug his hair to pull him away, he looks up at you almost bereaved. You smile at him kindly, say, “Thank you.”</p><p>“How was that? Was that alright for you?” he asks.</p><p>“It wasn’t about me, right?” you say. “Feel better?”</p><p>“Yes,” he says, but he collapses in his desk chair like he’s exhausted, his pants still undone. You reach down to fasten them for him, but he brushes your hand away. “No, I’ve got it, thanks.” He’s blushing, not meeting your eye.</p><p>“It was good, Tom,” you say. Maybe he needs the overt praise. “I hope I can be of similar help in the future,” you say, leaning in. He looks up at you, finally, and you give him a sly little smile.</p><p>“Right. Of course.” He collects himself, sitting up straight and pasting on his business smile. “Really great job, thank you. You can, uh, leave early this afternoon, if you want.”</p><p>“Thanks, Tom. Pleased to be of service.”</p>
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